Stop and Stare
by Pixieblade
Summary: Written for Spring Kink 09: 6/9/09 prompt: Saiyuki: 58, Tied up and letting go.


**Title: **Stop and Stare

**Author/Artist: **Pixieblade  
**Rating: **K+  
**Warnings: **n/a  
**Word count:** 807  
**Summary:** _Prompt_: 6/9; Saiyuki; Tied up/letting go

**A/N:** Listen to Stop and Stare by OneRepublic.

His fingers lacing with mine on the wheel make my breath catch. I wonder if he knows what his presence does to me. If he does, what does it mean that he's always touching me? I don't mean a little bit, I mean all the time, every minute of everyday and even when he's not touching me, I feel his eyes on me like fingers ghosting across my skin, or like warm breath or water.

From the moment I wake up, no, maybe before that; can I think that, am I allowed the fantasy that his fingers in my hair, brushing it and sleep away in the dawning light isn't a figment of my imagination? His arms draped over my shoulders while I prepare breakfast once coffee has helped his eyelids stay open for more than a breath's time, if I'm lucky even before that. While sometimes those warm honey hands help with soap and drying cloths after eggs and toast or soup and rice, normalcy in a bowl; but maybe he doesn't know.

Or later, a solid back pressed against mine, an unmovable, unflinching wall holding me up as we tug on boots and sneakers while dodging bullets or paper fans that pull back only upon reproachful glances and utterances of assurances on timeliness. Warm breath against the shell of my ear while driving, bumping along some random, dusty road in the middle of nowhere, its skittering dance on my flesh the only reason I don't give in and let Gonou's dark side run us off a cliff. Because if I did that…well, the touching would stop then, wouldn't it?

A warm leg tangling with mine under the tabletop at dinner while long fingers use chopsticks like spears, a steady stream of smoke and curses as they battle for the last...anything, just because they can, and it helps, God it helps, hearing the sound of him crash against my ears, the steady murmur of nothingness that soothes and caries away the worries of the day.

If we're really lucky there will be no blood or torn flesh or winces as my hands gingerly explore wounds I swear will never happen again, if only to myself, but he gives me a lopsided grin anyways and just holds on tighter, his nails marking my knee even through the fabric of my pants. Time slows and stops and I forget to breathe when they're there and when they're gone I never want to breathe again and I wonder if this is my fate in life-to never know?

But I do and it hurts so badly, that look in your eyes when you try so hard and my body locks down, fear freezing my muscles, joints, heart. All I want is to touch you back, like now, with your steady hands on the wheel and my head on your shoulder, too tired to move it away from where you rest it and it's all I can do to stay awake-so tired, good…let my brain shut down for a bit, maybe that's what I need; but I'm thinking again and I don't want to, so I close my eyes and open my mouth…

"I love you, you know."

Hardly more than a whisper, could be a dream, I'm not sure if I spoke aloud or not and there's a pause in the air, in my breathing, hanging there behind my closed eyes, because I don't want to look if I did speak and he says no, so I keep them closed-feign sleep and then the pause is replaced with a rush of air and pale words that are softer than silk, maybe a dandelion tuff could compare, but nothing compares I already knew that.

"I know. 'bout time you realized it too."

And I'm laughing into the night, harsh little bursts that sound crazed and I feel like an idiot for taking so long. Jeep's slowing, like his foots' off the pedal but we're still moving forward and then my whole world is on fire, senses abuzz as he leans over and kisses me. It's soft, gentle, and warm-needy, desperate and hungry as our tongues slide together…oh wait, that's me.

How long has it been? Since when was I this weak or is it just him? Maybe it's just him that makes me feel this way, this weak and still wanted; maybe more so because he _knows_ and still wants. Maybe it's just his touch…as he runs fingers down my cheek and lips-feather light before sliding back into the driver's seat and my head goes back to resting on his shoulder, warm, strong, mine.

Its fine now…he's got the wheel after all.

Fin.


End file.
